


Connected

by AbigailKinney4life



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Friendship, Homophobia, M/M, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-14 12:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbigailKinney4life/pseuds/AbigailKinney4life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>16 year old John Watson hates his life, but when he meets college student Sherlock Holmes he realises that's all about to change. Can two socially inept outsiders survive all the challenges life throws at them? Can they find love along the way? JohnLock x</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I wish nothing ever happened to me

Connected

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters, they belong to the BBC, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and any other respective owners.

A/N: Well, I have to say, reading the Sherlock Holmes books as a child and watching the 21st century adaptation this year-it did not disappoint! And what do people like us do when we like a tv show? We write FF of course! Hope you enjoy, reviews much appreciated, this is AU x

Chapter One: I wish nothing ever happened to me

“Rebecca, please...John and Harry are trying to sleep!”  
“You're the one whose shouting, Bernard! You started this tonight!”  
“How did I start this?!”  
“You always start it! You always ruin my life and the kids and everyone's life around you!”  
“How dare you?! I'm trying my best to keep everything together! You're the one who said you don't want to be in this marriage any more.”   
John was sat in his room, 12 years old, hugging his Teddy Bear close to his chest and tears streaming down his face.  
They always did this...they always argued, they always told each other they hated each other and John had to sit there and listen to it all. So did Harry, but John knew he couldn't go and talk to her, she didn't want to talk about it, she couldn't talk about it. And because of that, John couldn't talk about it either.  
He just lay there, crying and cuddling Mr. Grizzly to his chest as they screamed and screamed and screamed...  
...  
16 year old John Watson woke with a start, sitting bolt upright and staring around the empty room, breathing heavily.  
It took him a long moment to realise he was dreaming, and an even longer moment to berate himself for still having these dreams at all.  
There was no screaming, not any more. Not since the divorce any way, he didn't have to deal with the screaming any more.  
It was nights like this, however, that the ghostly silence was more unnerving to him.  
John's parents had finally split up when John was 15, after years and years of fighting until they realised the relationship was just self-destructive. But in all honesty, John was still haunted with memories from it, not as often as he used to be but every now and then he'd have these dreams, these dreams that forced him to wake up in a cold sweat.  
He sighed to himself and let his head fall into his hands, he knew he was too young to be so troubled by this sort of stuff, but he also knew it would never go away. John didn't know what he was supposed to do about it though, kids with normal lives wouldn't be worrying about this stuff but a kid with a normal life wouldn't have had to go through the things his family had gone through.  
John had always thought that when his Mum and Dad finally split up it would be for the better, he might even get some sleep then, but the divorce itself had been very rocky. Each parent refusing to talk to each other, John having to be the go-to-guy between the pair of them.  
But one of the biggest problems that had faced John was where he was going to live, for Harry it had been simple, she didn't really care but John didn't want to move away from either of his parents...sometimes he thought he cared too much. Sometimes he thought that was a good thing.  
But times like this when he was sat in a cold sweat, fearing something that had happened a year ago; he thought that caring too much was definitely a curse.  
John looked at the alarm clock on the side of his bed and saw that it was 5 minutes from going off at 7am, he closed his eyes tightly and let his head hit the pillow again, desperately trying to get any form of rest out of his exhausting night before he had to get up for school.  
It was inevitable, though, in what seemed a matter of seconds his alarm sounded loudly from his bedside table and John groaned loudly.  
He didn't hate school, it wasn't that at all, he just wasn't any good at operating on no sleep.  
He didn't think it was fair.  
He swung his legs over his bed and stood up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his closed eyes and reaching blindly for the alarm clock.  
The alarm clock wasn't what he found though, his fingers skimmed over soft fur, he opened his eyes and looked down at Mr. Grizzly.  
John turned the alarm off and picked his old Teddy Bear up slowly, he never slept with that thing any more, but he always kept him on his bedside table, within his sight.  
It always seemed to John, even though he'd never tell anyone, that even though Mr. Grizzly couldn't speak and wasn't even alive, he was the only one who had been with John throughout everything.  
John always believed that thinking that was easier than admitting how alone he actually was.

…

John was in the kitchen, still in his pyjamas, pouring milk into his bowl of cereal when his Mum walked into the room, fully dress, fishing around her hand bag for her car keys.  
“Hey.” Said John, barely looking up.  
“Morning, Sweetheart.” John's Mum, Rebecca, replied, sitting at the table and picking up the cup of coffee that had been sat there when John came in.  
“How did you sleep?” She asked with an eyebrow raised as John leant against the counter and yawned hugely.  
John shrugged, not wanting to tell her, he dug into his cereal more enthusiastically than he would have normally.  
“Morning everyone.” Came Stuarts voice suddenly as he walked into the kitchen, apparently looking for something.  
“What have you lost?” Rebecca asked, glancing around.  
“Car ke...oh! Found them!” He exclaimed, grabbing the aforementioned keys from the side.  
“Hi John,” said Stuart, turning away from John just as quickly. “We're going to that party at the Williams' tonight.” He instructed, John watched as his Mother looked slightly taken aback and then composed herself with the fake smile John was growing accustomed to.   
John scowled. Stuart was his Mum's boyfriend, and his Mum apparently loved him but that didn't mean John had to like him. Stuart always bossed his Mum around and told her what to do, and she never stood up for herself, John had never spoken to her about it but he assumed that she just didn't want to be in a relationship where she did nothing but fight again. But John's Father hadn't been a bad person, he and his Mum had just never been on the same page.  
Stuart, on the other hand, was an arsehole.  
“Hi.” John said back, trying to appear friendly, but Stuart was out of the door without so much as a second glance to his girlfriends son, John rolled his eyes and decided not to waste precious brain cells thinking about it.  
“Party?” Asked John politely.  
“Yeah,” Rebecca replied, suddenly sounding tired. “Some people Stuart know from work, he figured we should go out seeing as you're back at your Dad's tonight.”  
“Ah.” John nodded,. Although his mind was way past the party now.  
He was going to have to go back to his Dad's tonight.  
He didn't want to go back to his Dad's and he hated himself for feeling that way.  
It wasn't his Dad that was the problem, he loved him, but it was the fact that his Father was never there. His Dad was a barrister and all his time was taken up by one case or another.  
The Watson's had come to a strange arrangement when it had come to living arrangements. Harry came and went wherever whenever she wanted, which was usually her boyfriends, but John spent one fortnight with his Mum and one fortnight with his Dad, which meant that when he had to go back to his father's house, he was stuck there for two weeks solid. But he tried not to let himself give it any energy, he tried desperately to remain the glass-half-full person he could barely remember.

…  
At 3:20 that day John got to his Dad's and let himself in, slinging his school bag in the porch and kicking his school shoes off gratefully. John only had six months left off school, he always reminded himself that when he had a tough day.  
But he quickly decided that wasn't necessarily a good thing when John remembered that after school he was just coming back to a big, empty house.  
John quickly turned most of the lights on, he didn't have a thing against being green, he just preferred a light house to a dark one, it made it look at least a little bit lived in.

After that, John wandered around the house aimlessly for a few moments.  
“Harry!” He called out, just to make sure, “Harry!”  
When he got no reply, he concluded that his sister wasn't home. Which was a relief in some ways.  
But in other ways it wasn't. John put the kettle on and walked to the porch to retrieve his school bag. He made himself a hot cup of tea, slung his school bad loosely over one shoulder and meandered up the stairs.   
That was another thing about his Dad's house, he never knew what to do with himself there.  
John was halfway through his History essay on the Cold war, and he got distracted from writing about the Soviet Invasion of Czechoslovakia when he heard a key in the front door.  
Judging by the footsteps of the person who walked in it was John's father, Bernard.  
John glanced to the clock in his bedroom at this house.  
10pm.  
John shook his head, realising that his Dad would be too tired to talk to now, so John just let him walk to his bedroom and close the door.  
As soon as John finished his essay he crawled into bed, knowing he'd regret it if he lost sleep again that night.  
Although he tried to drift off, for a good hour he kept one ear open to hear if Harry would come back that night, she never did.  
John soon fell into a dreamless sleep only to practically do the same things tomorrow.  
In a nutshell, John Watson hated his life.

 

I know, no Sherlock in this chapter, but I promise he'll be along soon to make John feel better x


	2. Adorably quirky

Connected

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters, they belong to the BBC, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and any other respective owners.

A/N: Should point out, in this story, Harry isn't a lesbian, merely for the fact that the story rolls better if John is the only homosexual in the family x

Chapter Two: Adorably quirky

John woke up, bleary-eyed, to the shrill sound of the alarm. He groaned loudly as he glared at the clock, before turning over and closing his eyes again. He stretched his arm behind his head and reached blindly for the alarm, only proceeding to knock it off of his bedside table. He winced at the at the crash and groaned once more.

"Shit." He said quietly, sitting up in bed slowly. He really wasn't a morning person.

He got out of bed and picked the alarm clock off the floor and turned it off, placing it on top of the table and grabbing his dressing gown, getting ready for another day.

John walked down the stairs and was pleasantly surprised when he reached the kitchen, his Dad was sat at the table eating breakfast. He smiled tiredly as John walked in.

"Morning, Johnny boy."

"Hey, Dad." John replied, genuinely happy. "What are you doing here?"

"Living here." Bernard replied, looking mildly amused and John rolled his eyes as he put the kettle on.

"You've got a spring in your step today, John." Bernard observed, John turned back to him, unsure of what to tell him. John didn't want to tell his father that the reason he was happy was because he was having a conversation with him, and he wasn't too tired or annoyed from work. The last time John had seen his father before he ran off to work was when it was snowing two years ago and his Dad didn't have to go in until lunch time.

"Listen, John-" began Bernard, staring into his cereal bowl, "I'm sorry I wasn't here to see you last night."

"No worries." John told him, "hey Dad, I was wondering..."

"Hey, sorry, John..."Bernard interrupted, looking down at his watch with a worried expression John was all too familiar with etched across his face. "I've got to meet a client in 15 minutes, this is huge I swear, this could be the case of the century."

"Yeah." Said John, all the enthusiasm drained from his voice. "Hope it goes well."

"Yeah, see you tonight." And with that, Bernard Watson was out of the kitchen and out of the front door, his cereal bowl left abandoned on the table. John sighed frustratedly and shook his head, he was too used to it to be that upset, but it pissed him off no end.

He made himself a cup of tea and leant against the side, staring at the empty house and almost hearing his mood hit the floor again.

…

John had a slow walk to school, feeling dismal again, he knew he gave it too much thought but he'd been an over-thinker for 16 years so he figured there was no real hope in changing it now. It irritated him, that was all there was too it. His Dad used to work a lot when he was still with his Mum but he'd never worked this much before, he'd tried to explain to John once that he needed more money to support himself now he didn't have the extra income of his Mums job, but John knew other people like them that didn't have that much money, and their parents didn't work all the time.

When John said his Dad worked all the time, he didn't just mean that his Dad worked a lot, he genuinely meant that his Dad worked full-time, he imagined he'd see his Dad all of three times in the fortnight he was spending there, this morning being the first.

John shook his head as he reached the entrance of his secondary, he didn't want to think about this all day, there was no point.

John walked into his form room later than he generally would have because of his slow walk to school, so when he got there pretty much everyone was in the form room.

He spied out his two best friends sat across the room laughing with each other and smiled slightly as he made a bee line for them.

"Hey guys." He said.

"Hey !" They both replied, Martin and Ben had been John's best friends since primary school, Ben was sat on the table even though he shouldn't have been, splayed out casually, he was definitely the coolest of the three. Martin, however, was probably one of the funniest people John had ever known, but he was more inclined to follow the rules completely.

John pulled up a plastic chair and sat down, throwing his bag under the table.

"You're late today." Ben observed. John shook his head and laughed.

"Yeah, Dad was being funny."

"What happened?" Asked Martin, staring up at John, who shrugged non-committally.

"Nothing...hey, have you guys checked out that new "Racers" game yet?"

"No, but I heard about it," began Ben, apparently distracted from the first subject, "is it any good?"

"My brother reckons it is," began Martin, "maybe we should..."

John smiled slightly as they made plans to go to Martin's house at the weekend to try out a new game, he'd never discussed any of his problems with Martin or Ben, he'd never really felt the need too.

He supposed they'd picked up on the fact that John was going through a tough time but they didn't say anything and John was grateful for it. Martin and Ben made him forget his problems, and that was the best he could hope for.

…

John walked home that day with his head filled with his upcoming history exam, he'd been writing so many practise questions for it but still there were things he was worried about. History was such a detailed topic, John knew he shouldn't be worried about it but sometimes he couldn't help it. John decided that tonight he should study the end of the cold war and then he could...

"Hey, stop!"

John turned to the sound of heavy footfalls and loud shouting. He looked at the commotion and saw a tall, thin guy chasing a slightly shorter guy in a black hoodie and he was really making a run for it.

"Move out of the way!" The chased man screamed at John but John didn't move away quick enough and felt the wind be knocked out of him as the stranger collided into him with enough force to knock himself on the ground, John stumbled slightly but didn't fall over. John righted himself and stared in shock as the taller man grabbed the other one and yanked him to his feet, holding his arms behind his back.

"Fuck." The man exclaimed quietly, hanging his head in defeat.

John finally looked away from him and finally had a chance to look at the other man that had been chasing him, he was about 6ft tall and was very angular although he seemed to possess a kind of wiry strength, he must have had the sharpest cheekbones John had ever seen. He also had dark, bordering-on-messy hair that fell adorably into his blue-green eyes. John felt like he could stare at this stranger forever, even with the man between them.

John looked immediately away, however, when the man locked eyes with him.

"Err...err..." tried John desperately, embarrassed at being caught out.

"Thanks," the man said suddenly with a crisp English accent, pulling the man sharply as an indicator, the man found John's eyes again and this time John couldn't look away.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"John Watson." John answered immediately, thinking he would do whatever this man asked him to do. He couldn't have been more than 18, and he was the most gorgeous man John had ever...had ever...

"...What happened?...What's this all about?" Asked John, cursing himself for acting like a teenager...even though he was a teenager.

"This man has been cheating on his A-Levels at college," he informed John, "haven't you?" He said to the man, who gave him a look of pure hatred but he didn't make a move to get away.

"I was after him, pretty sure I'd loose him, too. I owe you."

"Errr...no worries." John assured him, losing himself in those eyes again, they seemed to be sort of...sparkling. "How did you know?"

The tall man honoured John with a small smile, "elementary, Watson."

John was so caught up in trying to figure out if anyone ever talked like that any more that he didn't realise the two men had turned and the taller one began walking the suspect back in the direction of the college.

But...John didn't want him to go, he had no idea why not but he didn't want him to go.

"What's your name?" He called suddenly."

The man turned back to him, "Sherlock Holmes." He called over his shoulder, before turning back and walking out of sight.

Sherlock Holmes...what a strange name...it was then that John realised that there had been something adorably quirky about that man...about Sherlock Holmes by the way he had spoken and by the way he cared enough to come after some guy, so John figured he also needed an adorably quirky name.

John found himself smiling at the spot Sherlock Holmes had just been standing in, and he smiled to himself all the way home, too.

He felt better, he felt his mood lift.

…

John was two pages to the end of the fifth chapter of the fourth book in the "Vampire Enemy" series he'd started the previous day when there was a knock on his door. He looked up on instinct, it was too early for his Dad to be back.

"Yeah?" He called out.

The door opened and Harry walked in, John immediately book-marked his page and put the book down.

He got up and walked over to Harry, staring at her. "Harry..what...what the hell happened?"

But John knew what had happened, he could smell the alcohol reeking from her breath, and she had tear tracks down her face, smearing her mascara.

Harry had taken the divorce upheaval worse than John had, she'd begun drinking until the point of passing out and had begun doing the most stupid things. Whenever things went wrong, which was a lot, Harry would always come to John for help, and he always helped her because she had know one else to talk too. Or because he was an idiot, he hadn't decided yet.

All of a sudden, Harry began to cry. Silent tears streaming down her pretty face.

"John, am I a bad person?" She asked suddenly as her sobs became louder, "am I the reason Mum and Dad broke up?"

John had to refrain from rolling his eyes, they'd been over this hundreds of times in her drunken state. And he did the same thing he did every time this happened, he hugged her, comforted her, told her of course not until she calmed down.

When John finally calmed his sister down enough he got her into bed, still no sign of their Dad, he sighed to himself heavily and collapsed into his own bed, exhausted.

John clutched the covers tightly and tried his best to fall asleep as soon as he could, he refused to think about what had just happened with Harry, or the sad familiarity of it. He fell asleep very quickly after that.

After Harry got drunk on him, John always had restless nights, but tonight was different.

He probably wouldn't remember it in the morning, but that night, John's dreams were full of Sherlock Holmes.


	3. Enigma

Connected

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters, they belong to the BBC, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and any other respective owners.

Chapter 3: Enigma

John walked into his form room later than he would have usually done, he'd slept in that morning for reasons that entirely didn't involve his dreaming of Sherlock Holmes.

John joined Ben and Martin at the end of the classroom like he did everyday, throwing his bag under the table like a rag doll. Martin rolled his eyes at John's lack of care for his school things and Ben snorted in laughter at Martin, John really did like his friends.

"Good night?" Asked Ben, inclining his head to John for an answer, although John knew that he could give Ben a half-answer and he wouldn't question it.

John shrugged his shoulders, "same old." He really didn't want to tell Ben and Martin about what had happened with Harry, he didn't know if his two friends knew about the situation with his sister, but he figured if they had heard anything they'd never brought it up. But John didn't know if that was because they didn't want to make John uncomfortable or if they felt uncomfortable themselves.

"What about you guys?" He asked, steering the subject.

"Yeah, not bad." Ben answered lightly, turning back to Martin, "spent half the night texting Sally."

"Ha!" Martin exclaimed, "you finally gonna get with with her?"

"You'd better not." John warned half-jokingly, shaking his head. "Sally is such a bitch."

Ben snorted. "Yeah, just 'cause you're not getting any."

John sighed internally at the open vulgarity of his friend, deciding there was no point in challenging him about it. Ben was a womaniser and he always would be.

"All right, I think we can avoid battle of the relationship-game." Martin laughed, "are you two going to that open day at the college today?"

"Yeah." Ben answered.

John nodded. "Yeah, nearly didn't though." He explained, "Dad was barely around five minutes to sign the form."

"Why didn't you just get your Mum to sign it?" Asked Ben, raising a bemused eyebrow.

John opened his mouth to reply, stopped and thought, before closing his mouth in defeat. "Dammit." He muttered.

Martin and Ben began to laugh and John joined in, it was funny. He had a terrible memory.

"Oh!" Began Martin suddenly, like something had just materialised in his memory, getting John and Ben's attention. "Speaking of the college..." Martin continued, "apparently someone was faking all their A-Levels and they got found out."

"Really?" Asked Ben, interested, "what happened?"

"Dunno." Replied Martin, "he failed though, and they chucked him out of the college."

"What an idiot," Ben laughed. "Don't you reckon, John?"

"Hmm." John said in response, mind drawn back to the events of yesterday. He remembered how the guy had crashed into him, and remembered how Sherlock Holmes had looked at him with those piercing eyes. John had to fight off the urge to sigh like a school girl, he hadn't been able to get Sherlock Holmes out of his mind ever since yesterday. He didn't know why, but he didn't hate it. If anything, I was nice having his mind pre-occupied with a hot guy as opposed to all of the problems in his life. And Sherlock had been hot, he'd been...John didn't even know. He'd had those eyes and that way his dark hair fell into his eyes.

Also, John couldn't help but admire what Sherlock had done, he thought he was half-mad, just going after that guy like that, but there was something to be admired there.

"...John, what are you thinking about?"

"Huh?" Asked John, brought out of his reverie by Martin's voice, "what?"

"You were thinking about something soooo interesting that you are completely ignoring your best friend!" Ben exclaimed jokingly, turning his nose up at John.

John rolled his eyes and laughed. "Idiot."

…

The whole of John's form had spent the last hour walking around the college, going to separate departments to talk to different students about the things they studied and so forth. Currently though, John, Ben and Martin were hanging at the back, none of them had been interested in any of the subjects that had come up so far and were passing the time by playing eye-spy.

John didn't care that they sometimes acted like three year olds, sometimes it was more fun than acting your age.

"Okay..." began John, "eye spy with my little eye, something beginning with...hey, something interesting!"

"John," Ben frowned, "that's not how you play eye spy!"

John laughed and gestured to the room where the group had stopped. "Yeah, I know, I mean...we finally have the science department."

Martin rolled his eyes, "yay, science. You 'no, John we're not all boffins you."

"I find that offensive." John mock-huffed, before floundering off to talk to one of the science lecturers. Ben and Martin rolled their eyes but followed their friend none the less.

"Doctor? That's pretty impressive." Martin and Ben heard the man talking to John say as they approached them, "have you always wanted to be a Doctor?"

John shrugged slightly, "not always, no. In the last few years though, I think it'll be a great job."

"Well, it takes a lot of hard work and study to become a Doctor." The man told John, and he nodded, ignoring the good-natured chuckling of his friends behind them.

John had always wanted to be a Doctor, ever since he was young and his Mum would put a plaster on his scraped knees he wanted to help people, but he thought that was a really weird dream to have as a child, most children wanted to be an astronaut or a pirate, so he generally kept it to himself. John was willing to put in the work to achieve his dreams. He felt bad about it, but he knew it was also a good way to get away from his family.

When they left the science department they came to the law department, again, a subject that interested none of them. So as other people were talking amongst themselves and talking to some of the adults in the room, John stared around the room in silence, bored. He assessed the people and the students talking and working and thought about how irritating this must be to these people, just trying to do their work and having annoying teenagers come and bother them, nearly all of them were in conversation with one of his classmates. All except one.

And that was when John saw him, sat alone on a table away from everyone else, simultaneously writing notes into a notepad and typing onto a laptop. Concentration ablaze in his blue-green eyes. Sherlock Holmes.

The coincidence of their second meeting didn't even register in John's mind for a few moments. While they weren't in direct contact this time, John had more time to study the enigma that had been dominating his thought process for the last day. He was oddly well-dressed for an 18 year old, something John hadn't noticed the previous day. He wore black trousers and a purple dress shirt with the first two buttons undone.

His hair was still a stylish mess, he was so long and thin, his slender fingers seemed to dance across the keyboard of the laptop with a strange kind of grace, and he seemed completely oblivious to everything around him.

He was all alone.

Yet he didn't seem to care.

John took a deep breath, convincing himself he wasn't working up courage, and walked over to talk to Sherlock Holmes. It wasn't strange, they were supposed to be talking to the students, even if he had no interest in law whatsoever.

John was stood beside Sherlock for a few long moments until he realised that Sherlock hadn't realised he was standing by him, he really was in his own world. John was actually debating making himself known, Sherlock Holmes was such an interesting subject to study, more interesting than many he'd seen that morning, John felt like he should be conducting some form of nature programme.

"Hi." John said finally, his voice coming out stranger than he had intended. Sherlock immediately snapped up to look at the source of noise by his side. He studied John up and down for a few brief moments before putting his pen down, his facial expression betraying nothing.

"John Watson." He said in his almost-gravely tone. John was taken aback by this strange greeting, but Sherlock didn't seem to find it strange at all.

"Err...Sherlock Holmes." John replied, trying to be funny but regretting it when Sherlock didn't laugh, he just stared intently at John, waiting for him to say whatever it is he had come over to say.

"Oh, err..." began John, thinking desperately of something to say. Something that wasn't stupid, anyway. "I heard that guy from yesterday got kicked out of the college."

"Well, that was the plan." Sherlock answered evenly, turning back to his laptop, although John somehow knew that he was still listening to him.

"Why...I mean, what made you go after him?" John asked, hoping it wasn't a stupid question.

Sherlock stopped typing for a moment but didn't turn back to John. "Detective work." He said slowly.

"Detective?" Asked John, "you're studying to be a detective? That's pretty cool."

Sherlock turned back to him, clearly not wanting to discuss his future with John. "What about you?" He asked John, "are you here with the dreary school of children intent on buzzing through every classroom in this building to try and discover their badly planned out futures?" He raised his eyebrows at John slightly, "no offence."

"None taken," said John, trying not to laugh as much as he wanted to. Sherlock happened to be one of those people who didn't know they were being funny when they were. He was deadly serious, in fact, and honest for once.

He spoke unlike anyone John had ever heard too, John thought. Sherlock Holmes really was quirky.

"I was at the science department," John explained to Sherlock.

"Doctor?" Asked Sherlock suddenly, but it was less of a question and more a statement of fact, John stared at him for a moment.

"Yeah...how did you...?"

Sherlock smirked slightly as he began writing notes again in what John noticed was an elegant script. John didn't understand how Sherlock knew about John wanting to be a Doctor, but he felt silly bringing it up again, so he changed the subject.

"Why are you working alone?" He asked, resisting the urge to clap a hand over his mouth. Why in the hell had he just asked that?

"I'm not a people person." Sherlock answered, again, he didn't seem to mind John's question and didn't think he was asking stupid questions.

Sherlock knew he was a very forthright person and was grateful John appeared to be, too. It made having necessary conversations with people so much easier.

"Well, I'm not really, either." John continued, hoping there was some way of convincing Sherlock that he wasn't a complete weirdo. "I only have a few friends."

John then understood in that moment that the thing that came out of his mouth next, he would never understand and never, ever repeat.

"Maybe you and me could...hang out some time."

"Is there something you need to get away from?" Asked Sherlock bluntly.

"...No..." John lied only a little bit, again in wonder of how this person could somehow read him like a book. John hadn't asked Sherlock to hang out with him so he could get away from his family, he just wanted to...hang out with him.

He didn't want to walk out of this room and risk never seeing him again, John realised he was probably crazy now.

"I suppose we could get together at some point." Sherlock answered finally, smiling slightly again, "I can properly thank you for helping with that man yesterday."

Don't read anything into it, John forced himself to think as soon as Sherlock had said it. But he really wanted to read something into it.

John and Sherlock exchanged numbers after that and John wished he wasn't blushing. But from the look Sherlock was giving him, he knew he probably was. It was hard work, tearing himself away from Sherlock's eyes. But when he finally did and walked back to his friends, his head was full of how Sherlock was going to "thank" him, and wondering if he was imagining Sherlock's eyes on his retreating back.

"Who was that?" Asked Ben immediately as John joined them, as the three boys made their way out of the room.

"No one," John lied, "just a student I was chatting to."

But John did sneak a glance back to Sherlock before they left the room, his dark head bent over his notes and staring at them intently, and John really couldn't put his finger on it.

He couldn't put his finger on why he wanted to spend every second of his day with this man.


	4. We're both enemies of the Vampire

Connected

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters, they belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and any other respective owners. Also, if there genuinely is an Author out there called Michael Riley, it is a complete coincidence that I've used your name.

Chapter Four: We're both Enemies of the Vampire

John was woken up rather abruptly and glanced at the clock.

9:30 am.

He rolled his eyes, that was pretty pathetic for a Saturday. He strained his ears to try and locate the sound that had woken him, and realised it was coming from down stairs. John begrudgingly got out of bed and donned his dressing gown, yawning as he walked down the stairs.

He stopped on the bottom step as he caught the sound of the commotion, it was his Dad, and Harry, and they sounded like they were arguing.

"And what time did you get home last night?"

"It doesn't matter Dad! I'm 18, I can do what I want!"

"Not while you're still living under my roof..."

John sighed, irate, and turned on his heel and walked straight back the way he came. His Dad and Harry hadn't argued for a while now, he thought they'd finally stopped. But as he thought about it, the more logical reason was probably because his Dad was never around enough for Harry to argue with him.

But John didn't care, he couldn't allow himself to care. He let it go right over his head and he knew he needed to get out of the house. He wasn't staying and listening to them argue just like his parents had argued.

He didn't need it.

John quickly slipped on some jeans and pulled a t-shirt over his head. He walked down the stairs, pulling on each sock as he went and grabbing his jacket from the bottom of the bannister.

He could hear them again, and he really didn't want to walk right into it. But he comforted himself with the fact that he would be out the door in under two minutes and also that the fight had nothing to do with him.

It would only become his business when Harry drunkenly spilled her guts to him later.

He took a breath and popped his head around the door to the kitchen, he tried to give them one of his best smiles so they wouldn't think he'd heard them, it was fake, of course.

"Hey Dad, just wondering if I could pop over to Mum's? I left my book there."

"Sure thing, Johnny boy." Said John's father, smiling for John's benefit, but the smile was probably just as fake as John's.

John retracted his head and the smile was instantly gone. He toed on his trainers and closed the front door behind him, zipping up his jacket against the cold before walking out of the garden.

John hadn't left a book at his Mums, John would never do that. He tried not to think that maybe if his Dad was around more he might know that himself.

John fished his phone out of his pocket and opened up a new message.

Hey Mum, you up?

He continued walking in the direction of his Mothers house even though he didn't have a response yet, but it wasn't long before his phone beeped with his text alert noise.

Yeah I'm up. Come over if you want xxx

John didn't bother to reply as he'd be at his Mothers house in less than five minutes anyway, so he put his phone away, stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked faster, trying to fight off how tired he still was.

When he got to his Mum's house, John didn't knock and just walked in through the open door, he found his Mum in the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea and reading.

"Books?" Asked John, mock-incredulously as he walked in, causing his Mum to look up, surprised at her Sons entrance. "My Mother is reading books?"

Rebecca grinned at her son. "Hey, we all read. You just have your nose in your books so much you never notice."

John chuckled slightly and moved to the kettle, making himself a cup of tea. "You're up early," he began, "how come?"

John glanced at his Mum and saw her shrug. "Stuart was meeting up with one of his work buddies and he woke me up, so I decided to pick up my book and pass the time."

"Oh." Said John, turning back to his tea so his Mother wouldn't see the slight scowl on his face.

"What about you?" Asked Rebecca, as John joined his Mother at the table, freshly made tea warming his hands. "No one can get you out of bed on a Saturday."

John looked down at his cup. "Yeah...Dad and Harry were arguing again, so...I needed to get away from it."

John looked up to see his Mother frowning. "I thought Bernard and Harry stopped fighting a long time ago. At least that's what you said." She said, frown evident in her voice.

"I thought they'd stopped fighting too." John told her in defence, "I thought they'd finally gotten over their differences. But I was wrong."

Rebecca was still frowning. "I worry about you sometimes, John." She told him, "having to listen to your Father and Sister like that."

John fought to bite back a retort about it being perfectly okay for her to argue with his Dad into the night, but he didn't want to bring any of that shit back up.

He merely shrugged. "It's alright." Was all he said.

It looked as though John's Mother was going to say something, but whatever it was, John never heard it as Stuart strode into the kitchen with his usual air of self-importance, one of his work buddies that John didn't know the name of and didn't care about the name of trailed in behind him.

"Hey there John." Stuart greeted, smile on his face. "Just off to golf with Brian..." he told Rebecca, "hey there John, I'm proving a point, aren't Man City the best football club in Britain?"

"What?" Asked John after a moments hesitation, he didn't know what Stuart was talking about, the pair had never spoken about football. In fact, John didn't even like football that much, meaning Man City weren't his favourite team, no one was.

"Brian here thinks Arsenal are better," Stuart explained, but he still wasn't making any sense to John, but he still continued. "So I said that I know a sixteen year old boy that would beg to differ, you love Man City, don't you John?"

Ah, now John understood. Either Stuart was just completely lying to make himself seem better or he was so self-deluded he'd convinced himself John would agree with anything he had to say. Generally John would have said something but his Mother was in the room and life was too short.

He gave Stuart his second fake smile of the day. "Oh, yeah, Man City are the best, Arsenal wouldn't stand a chance against them." He said, purely to get Stuart off of his back.

Stuart laughed. "Good man!" He said, clapping John on the back. He kissed John's Mum quickly and then was out of the door with Brian in tow, John shook his head, he couldn't shake the gut feeling of dislike he had for that man.

"Well," began Rebecca, bringing John back to their conversation. "Whatever is going on between your Father and Harry, I'm sure it will all sort itself out," she said as she stood up.

John didn't believe her for a second, but agreed with her anyway.

Rebecca patted John on the head, "chin up, something will come along soon enough."

John's thought process was then cut off as his phone beeped in his pocket. He pulled his phone out as his Mother took her empty mug to the sink and looked at the I.D.

Sherlock

John froze for a second, he'd last seen Sherlock when they'd exchanged numbers in the college a week ago, and when he'd suggested they meet up, he didn't think Sherlock had taken him seriously.

John couldn't get the adorably quirky man out of his mind though, but every time Sherlock Holmes had appeared in his thought process, John was always met with a sort of empty feeling in the pit of his stomach, knowing he'd probably never see the man again. Why Sherlock was texting him now...John was almost a little afraid to open the text, but he did anyway.

Text me your address so I can come and pick you up in an hour. I have a surprise for you. SH

John was confused, but he could feel the excitement building in his stomach, he was going to see Sherlock again. Sherlock wanted to see him. And he had a surprise...with shaking fingers, John tapped in his Mum's address and sent the message to Sherlock.

He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice as he spoke to his Mother.

"Hey, Mum, mind if I hang out here for a bit?" He asked.

"Course you can." His Mum answered, "you can stay as long as you like, I was just going to have a chilled Saturday."

"I'll...err...I'll be off out in a bit though." He told her, smile creeping across his face, he couldn't wait to go out with Sherlock, even if he had no idea where they were going.

John's Mum smiled at him. "It'll be good for you to get out," she told him, "who are you going with?" She asked casually.

John shrugged but his indifference was, of course, a complete lie. "A friend."

…

John got into Sherlock's car precisely an hour later, when his eyes met Sherlock's, John could feel himself melting. Sherlock was still as gorgeous as he'd been when John had first saw him. His hair was still raven and bordering on messy, his cheekbones looked like they could cut through steel and his eyes...his eyes were still perfect.

"Hi." Said John finally, sounding a little nervous.

"Hello John." Sherlock answered, in that well spoken way of his. John remembered how quirky Sherlock had seemed, and how out of time he had seemed with his speech and his clothes. Today, he was wearing a long black coat and a purple scarf wrapped around his neck.

Sherlock didn't say anything to John after that, he just started the engine and began to drive. John didn't really know what to say, Sherlock Holmes didn't strike him as the type of man who would waste time on pleasantries. John could have happily sat there and just stared at him, plotting every feature of Sherlock to memory. But what John had also gathered from this man was that he was very observant, so he would probably notice John's ogling.

"So..." Asked John finally, "why...did you want to surprise me?"

Sherlock didn't look at him as he spoke. "I saw it and I thought of you."

John sat back and didn't question that, but he did wonder how Sherlock could think of him, how he could claim to know something about John to make him think of him, they didn't know each other, all John had told him about himself was his name and his ambition to be a Doctor.

They sat in comfortable silence for the rest of the drive, and John quickly realised he didn't mind being in silence with Sherlock. Generally, with other people, it made him feel uncomfortable, made him feel like he had to say something, but with Sherlock, he felt fairly contented, he didn't need to do anything. He could just sit there, plotting the uniquely pleasant way Sherlock smelled to memory, sneaking glances at him every ten minutes or so. John was happy.

They arrived, about two towns over, outside some form of community centre. Sherlock turned to John. "Come on." He said, in his gravely voice, before getting out of the car.

John got out of the passenger side and looked at the community centre, concentrating on the people trickling into it.

"Sherlock..." he asked in confusion, "what are we doing here?"

"There," Sherlock informed him, pointing a gloved hand to the sign outside of the door, John read it:

Meet and Greet

Best-selling author Michael Riley.

"But...but..." John stuttered disbelievingly for a moment, he looked at Sherlock to see him smirking. "Michael Riley is my favourite author," John breathed out, "how the hell did you know?"

"Pretty obvious really," Sherlock began, "when we met in the college, you had a well-read copy of "Vampire Enemy" by Michael Riley in your bag, next to several other barely read textbooks, meaning you've read that book more than any other in your school bag. The title and genre suggest that the book wouldn't be homework to be read for school, meaning you brought it on your own accord, and no sixteen year old that didn't like reading would bring a book to school. The fact the book you chose to bring was a part of a set of covers from the "Vampire Enemy" complete series, instead of individual covers, suggests you have the whole set. Therefore implying Michael Riley is your favourite author."

Sherlock had said all of that without taking a breath, and John couldn't take his eyes off of him for a few long moments, even though Sherlock wasn't looking at him.

John couldn't even process all of the information Sherlock had just given him, he had noticed all of that from one look? ...The man was a genius.

"That..." began John, when speech finally returned to him, "that was incredible."

Sherlock turned to him then. "How on Earth did you figure that out?" John asked incredulously.

"The science of deduction." Sherlock replied, "I wouldn't be a very successful detective without it."

"Incredible," John couldn't manage to stop saying to himself, but then something occurred to him. "Hold on," he began, getting Sherlock's attention again. "How did you know that the book cover was from a set?"

"I...um," Sherlock coughed. "I happen to own the same series myself."

This caused John to laugh out loud, and after a moment, even Sherlock chuckled slightly. As they walked into the community centre, John realised that he and Sherlock actually had something in common.

…

When John walked into his Father's house that night, he had so many thoughts whirling around in his head, he didn't know where to start.

John couldn't get over that incredible display Sherlock had given him. And he'd gotten to meet Michael Riley! That was one of the best things John had ever done, he'd actually gotten to meet one of his heroes and Michael Riley had really delivered.

John couldn't get over how kind it had been of Sherlock to do that for him, John realised he was beginning to harbour a very large soft spot for his adorably quirky new friend.

John walked into the front room, unsurprised to find the house empty, and picked up his school bag from the porch on the way in. He let himself sink into one of the armchairs in the room and picked out the aforementioned "Vampire Enemy" book from his school bag, thumbing the page he had bookmarked and opened the book.

Everything Sherlock had said to John was true, everything about the book series and how much he'd read them. John knew he was now always going to associate his favourite book series with Sherlock Holmes.

John had been reading for about twenty minutes when he heard the front door open and close, his Father went into the kitchen before he came into the front room, John closed the book, bookmarking the page with his thumb, and listened out for his Father.

After 5 minutes, Bernard Watson passed the front room, beer in his hand, and saw John sitting down, Bernard turned to face his son and John saw how tired his Dad looked, and sighed internally.

"Hey, John..." his Dad began, "I'm pretty tired, I'm gonna go to bed."

"'Kay," said John, "see ya."

John's Dad smiled at him and then walked away, John could hear his footsteps on the stairs.

It suddenly occurred to John that this was generally the bit where he got irritated or angry, but right now, he was just in such a good mood, he couldn't be brought down. And he was better for it.

So instead of resigning himself to bed in annoyance, John re-opened the book, and settled back into the story that had become his escape for so many years. But as John read, his inner description of the main character as described in the book, changed from the Sandy haired, green eyed man Michael Riley had in his mind whilst writing this, and instead, the image in John's head changed from sandy blonde hair to dark, stylishly messy hair, and from green eyes to blue/grey eyes, blue/grey eyes that were streaked with silver...


	5. Social Outsider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the characters, they belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the BBC and any other respective owners.

John lifted the spoon to his mouth, chewing his cornflakes thoughtfully.

After a moment, he noticed the scrutinizing stare of his sister from across the table.

He swallowed, he hated people watching him eat, and stared at her.

"What?" He asked.

"You're thinking," Harry replied.

John rolled his eyes, "oh, sorry." He apologised jokingly.

Harry grinned, "you looked really deep in thought, I thought something was wrong for a moment."

John hadn't been deep in thought, in all honesty he was just zoning out, another thing he did when he ate.

"Nothings wrong," he finally said, going back to his cereal. "Just another boring day."

Harry nodded in agreement. "Yeah, tell me about it. It sucks that you have to go to Mum's tonight."

John stopped for a moment, spoon midway to his mouth.

"Yeah," he agreed slowly, "sucks." Shoving the spoon in his mouth as a distraction.

As much as John hated it, he actually couldn't wait to get back. Back to normalcy and a relative-stress free zone, minus a few arsehole boyfriends.

He hated himself for thinking that way.

"What about you?" He asked, changing the subject. "What are you gonna do today?"

Harry merely shrugged. "Probably go and see Kevin for a bit."

John made a face and Harry frowned at him. "What?" She asked.

"Kevin." He said the name in mock-disgust but he knew his sister heard the

real disgust behind it.

John didn't like Kevin, none of the family did, he fuelled Harry's alcoholism and made her worse, but she loved the guy so they couldn't talk her out of the relationship.

She rolled her eyes. "I bet you're just jealous," she began, "I bet you probably have a crush on him yourself."

John laughed. "Yeah, that's exactly it." He said sarcastically.

Harry was the only member of the Watson family to know that John was gay, he'd only come out to her last year but he'd done it for her more than anything else.

She'd told him she always wanted to be honest with him, so John had told her what he'd been keeping close to his heart for a long time.

She'd had no issue with it, not that John thought she would, she was a teenager that had grown in the same accepting era as John.

It was his parents, who were a bit more old-fashioned, that John was worried to tell.

But he didn't actually have a boyfriend so he didn't see the point in telling them anyway.

John's phone vibrated on the table next to his cereal bowl, he picked it up and smiled to himself when he saw that it was text from Sherlock.

Harry cocked an eyebrow at him, John receiving a text and smiling, that had to be good news.

"Who are you texting?" She asked lightly as John's fingers flew across his keypad.

"Sherlock," John answered, not looking at her.

"What?" Asked Harry, forehead creasing. "Sherlock?"

John looked up at her immediately. "Oh," he said. He didn't mean to tell her that, but he'd been too distracted by Sherlock asking to meet up for dinner. "...Yeah."

"Whose Sherlock?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

John felt the blush spread across his cheeks as he sent the text but didn't put his phone down.

"He's just this guy I met..."

A smile broke across Harry's face. "Oh God, you're in love."

"I'm not in love!" Said John immediately, "we barely even know each other."

"Are you seeing him later?" She asked.

John pursed his lips together and nodded.

She laughed delightedly at him. "John's in loooove, John's in loooove!" She sang.

Despite his embarrassment, he laughed too. This was the Harry he knew, the Harry he spent more time that he wanted to missing.

...

John walked into the restaurant and looked around momentarily. This didn't happen, not any more.

People didn't take people to restaurants on dates. _Except this isn't a date_. He reminded himself, he didn't know why he kept having these thoughts.

He wasn't interested in Sherlock, or at least he didn't think he was, sure the man was gorgeous but with all the crap going on in John's life he didn't need to bring a relationship into it.

Especially considering the fact that Sherlock probably wasn't gay.

Especially considering the fact that if John got into a relationship he'd have to come out.

No, he and Sherlock were just friends.

"John."

John turned to the sound of his name and saw Sherlock sitting at a table beside a large window, staring at him.

He wasn't smiling, he was just staring. Doing that thing where it was like he was deducing everything about him.

Today, Sherlock was wearing a black suit and a white shirt that looked so tight the buttons might pop. John forced himself not to concentrate on it as he sat down.

"Hi," he said awkwardly, sitting opposite the man. Sherlock's hair was still a glorious unruly mess, John longed to just run his hand through it, feel his black locks tumbling through his fingers.

"So, what did you mean in your text?" He began, when he realised Sherlock wasn't going to say "hello" back. "It could be dangerous?"

Sherlock grinned at him. John Watson was some what of an enigma to him. He could tell the boy was sad, he looked at life as a startled deer but at the same time with a sort of defeated resignation that made Sherlock want to know what had happened in his life.

He already suspected it was to do with family, some sort of family trauma. John was only 16, after all, there wasn't much else left in the field.

Sherlock had also wondered if John's sadness had anything to do with the fact that he was gay. It's not like he'd told him at all, but it was easy enough to tell.

The way John stared at him, at his body and his hair, Sherlock knew exactly how John felt about him, but what he didn't know was how he felt about John.

He hated being confused, it was not his element.

But as he looked across at the person in question staring at him with open eyes, he couldn't help but smile.

"This is...err, a stake out." Sherlock finally decided.

John's eyes narrowed in confusion. "A stake out?" He asked. "What for?"

"Three women have been attacked there," Sherlock explained, pointing a slender finger towards the window to an alleyway badly lit by a street light.

"Always here, always alone. But they always turn up dead," he didn't look as morbid as someone talking about death should.

"Isn't that a bit intense?" John asked, "I mean, you're not that much older than me, maybe you should...leave this stuff alone?"

Sherlock smiled despite the fact John was sure he had offended him. "Yes, maybe." He agreed. "It is reckless, almost as reckless as someone telling you to assist them on something dangerous, and you turning up."

John felt himself go red and he looked down. Truth was, John would come whenever Sherlock called.

The moment was interrupted by a man walking over to the table and giving them menu's.

"Hello, and welcome to Angelo's," he said.

"Thanks," said John, taking a menu, Sherlock left his lying on the table as he continued to stare out of the window.

"I'll get a candle for the table," Angelo continued, winking at John. "Make it more romantic."

John's face went red again, "no, we're not..." He looked at Sherlock for back-up but he wasn't paying attention.

John looked down at the table, he hoped Sherlock wasn't paying attention.

John didn't look up again until Angelo had put a red candle in the middle of the table, he blushed furiously. He was a kid, this wasn't how kids were supposed to be treated.

He looked up and Sherlock wasn't staring out of the window any more, he was looking intently at him.

"What?" Asked John, taken aback by Sherlock's sudden attention.

"You're embarrassed." Sherlock deduced.

John tried to grin despite himself. "How did you know? Did I move my hand in a way people only do when they're nervous?"

Sherlock looked like he was fighting off a smile, his cheeks dented with unused laugh lines.

"No, it's just that you've gone bright red."

John's eyes closed and he momentarily contemplated hiding under the table and searching for an opening in the ground that would take him away from here.

After a moment, Sherlock hadn't said anything and John began to feel like even more of an idiot for keeping his eyes closed, when he opened them, Sherlock was still staring at him, but he looked somewhat concerned this time.

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you." Sherlock said eventually, "I should have told that waiter..."

"No, no, no..." John cut him off, "it's fine, really. It's just...you know...I'm 16, I'm not used to this kind of treatment."

Sherlock's forehead creased. "What, being waited on?"

John shrugged, hoping his face had returned to a normal colour. "Not really, I don't really go out much, my family..."

John stopped himself before he could go on, the last thing he wanted to do was bore this incredibly interesting man with stories of his shitty life.

Sherlock looked away, back out of the window. Like he was aware that John didn't want to say any more.

"What about you?" John asked, desperate to change the subject.

"What about me what?" Asked Sherlock, not looking away from the window. He was holding his hand to his face, his index finger unconsciously brushing against his lip, it was incredibly distracting.

"Your family," John pressed, "what are they like?"

Sherlock turned to John immediately but he didn't say anything, almost like he had known what to say but the minute he saw John's face he decided against it.

"I'm not close with my family," said Sherlock eventually. "My parents moved to Paris a few months ago, I have two older brothers, Sherrinford and Mycroft, the latter of which occupies a minor position in the British government and whom I rarely see nor want to see."

John processed for a moment, what he was pretty sure Sherlock had just told him was that he has older brothers he doesn't like and parents in a different country.

"What about friends?" Asked John tentatively, recalling the way Sherlock had been sat alone in his classroom.

"Not really my area," Sherlock replied, "It's quite hard making friends when you're a high-functioning sociopath."

John laughed, because he was pretty sure that was what Sherlock was aiming for, but he couldn't stop his head from swimming.

Sherlock was way beyond his years, he was like an ancient wise man stuck inside a beautiful 18 year old body.

But now John was beginning to see, Sherlock Holmes wasn't just a little nomadic, he was completely socially inept.

He barely had any one in his life, he was distanced from his entire family and the only person he could speak to was John.

_Like me_.

"There!" Sherlock exclaimed suddenly, John jumped from the sudden outburst.

"What?" He asked, looking to see what Sherlock was pointing at.

A cab, it had pulled up outside of the alleyway with the murder victims.

"So?" Asked John, "it's...just a cab."

But Sherlock was grinning that grin of his and John knew it was more than just a cab, standing up and grabbing his coat, Sherlock said, "come on."

"What?" Asked John, confused. "Why?"

"We're going after that cab."

John snorted in response. "No we're not."

Sherlock's coat fluttered around his calves as he pulled it on. "Oh, come on," he insisted, "he wont wait for long, and there are people who need help."

John continued to stare at this strange boy with a death wish with a raised eyebrow as it occurred to him Sherlock might be insane.

"Please."

And that was it, that was all it took and suddenly John found himself following Sherlock out into the cold street.

The cab began to pull away and John was secretly pleased, but Sherlock turned to him, a manic yet adorable little grin on his lips.

_Damn_.

The pair took off in pursuit of the cab, running side by side, John was grateful . his P.E lessons at that moment so Sherlock couldn't rocket off without him.

John wished he could reach out and hold his hand.

Sherlock was still smiling as he scaled a fire escape and pulled John up with him and, despite himself, John laughed.


	6. A clean break

John sat in his maths lesson, listening to his teacher droning on about data handling, something not only John found boring but also ridiculously easy.

He felt his mind start to wander, he couldn't help it, his teacher had one of those voices you couldn't listen to for more than 5 minutes at a time.

He shifted his legs in his seat and felt the burn in his calves from running after that bloody cab two days ago.

He shook his head as he remembered what had happened.

It had indeed been the cab driver, Sherlock had figured it out after they'd caught up with the cab and he'd found a bottle of one of the victims perfume.

After that, they went to the taxi rank and Sherlock had called the police and they trapped the cabbie, John remembered looking around as the police turned up and Sherlock had just slunk off.

Confused, John had asked if Sherlock had wanted the credit and Sherlock had just shrugged at him.

So this was the person Sherlock was, he was genuinely serious about being a detective, he was certainly more than a little insane.

John found himself grinning at the dull carpet despite himself.

When Maths was finally over, John deposited his exercise book at the front of the class and walked out of the classroom, the girl who had just left hadn't bothered to keep the door open.

Slinging his bag over one shoulder, John noticed Ben loitering around the other end of the corridor, making his way over to his friend, John called out to him.

"Hey."

Ben looked up at him. "Hey," he replied, grinning slightly. "Wanna go?"

John nodded and the pair began to walk out of the corridor, chatting about nothing in particular.

"So," asked Ben after a while, "you have any love life yet?"

John rolled his eyes, Ben was more crass than Martin, so whenever the two of them were alone together they tended to get onto more personal subjects.

Ben always seemed to be interested in girls and relationships and all that, but John knew it was more for show than anything else, he and Ben had gone to primary school together and John remembered his friend being completely in love with one of the year six girls, one day, he finally asked her out and she had embarrassed him in front of the entire playground.

Ben still blushed when John reminded him about that.

"Why are you so interested?" Asked John, he waggled his eyebrows at Ben. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

Ben pushed him playfully but asked again anyway.

John thought for a moment, trying to think of anything he could say in response and, naturally, his mind went to Sherlock.

John knew he had a thing for Sherlock, he couldn't deny it, he was awesome. But what he didn't know was whether he actually wanted anything to happen between them.

Sure, it was great in his fantasies, but he had no idea what he'd do if it actually happened. Sherlock was intense, he was strange and he might be too much for John to handle.

But here and now, when the man wasn't around, John was really confident about squashing his feelings and staying friends, but when Sherlock was around...everything else dissolved and he became perfect to John.

"Earth to John?" Came a voice.

Jumping slightly, John turned to see Ben grinning at him. John looked forward to make sure he didn't bash into anyone in the corridor.

"Oh, sorry, zoned out."

"No, it's fine. If I bore you that much..." said Ben sarcastically.

"I will hit you."

The pair parted company after lunch to attend their respective last lessons, when the bell went for the end of the day, John went straight home and Ben made his way to Martin who was lurking outside of the school, waiting for his friend.

"See John today?" Asked Martin, as the pair began to walk.

"Yeah, we had lunch today."

"I missed him," said Martin, "is he okay?"

Ben shrugged a little. "He seemed really weird today, he got really flustered when I was asking if he was going out with anyone."

Martin shook his head slightly. "Yeah, well, he's always been weird about that sort of stuff, he doesn't like talking about it. I mean, he hasn't even told us he's gay yet."

Ben nodded again, puffing out his cheeks. "Yeah." He agreed.

Martin glanced over to his friend, well, glanced up, Ben had a good foot on him.

"You act all tough but you're a massive softy, you're actually worried about John." Martin pointed out.

Ben itched his elbow. "I dunno, it's just, maybe he doesn't talk to us because he doesn't think we know anything, he doesn't think he can talk to us."

Martin shook his head. "It's not that, even if we did start talking to him about his family, he'd just shy away from us. What he needs is someone who knows about the sort of shit he's going through, and that isn't us."

…

John sat on the other side of the room, watching Sherlock work, mainly because there was nothing else to do.

This was the first time John had ever been to Sherlock's flat, John was surprised to find that he lived alone.

But he had said he was distanced to his family, still, his family must have money if he was going to college and lived alone in London.

It was a topsy turvy kind of place, with paperwork and experiments strewn all over the place that did nothing to reflect the neatness of Sherlock's mind.

John knew that all of this stuff should be scaring him away from Sherlock, but he didn't really mind. It wasn't too different from his own bedroom, strewn with books and CD's, plus, with Harry out all the time and his Dad working non-stop, John practically lived alone, too.

John knew he had science homework that he should be doing, but he really didn't have the drive.

He was content just watching Sherlock work, his grey eyes became so intense when he stared at his laptop screen.

The low light in the flat made Sherlock look impossibly pale, like snow.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock noticed that John was staring at him unconsciously.

He looked back to his own empty screen, he couldn't concentrate.

He was too busy shouting internally at himself, what was he doing?

He didn't understand why he kept dragging John into his life, especially when he was pretty sure that John thought something was going to happen between them.

Neither of them had been in a relationship before, that was obvious. But Sherlock knew that John seemed to think he was some kind of sex God, but inside, Jesus, he was just as scared as John was.

John was great, he was sweet and a little cute but...it wasn't what he needed in his life, and it was unfair to lead John on.

Sherlock looked over to John, who smiled at him, and Sherlock knew he had to cut this off before things got too complicated.

…

"When are you going?" Asked Harry, John looked up from his phone.

"About half an hour." He replied.

Harry nodded. "Well, tell Mum I said hi."

"Will do."

The pair lapsed into silence again until there was a knock on the door.

They both remained seated.

Harry rolled her eyes. "I'll get it, shall I?"

John grinned up at her as she walked out of the living room, Harry was being so normal lately he was almost worried, which was really messed up when he thought about it.

John heard a familiar voice from the door asking for him.

Sherlock.

John practically ran to the door to see Sherlock standing there, hands behind his back, his charcoal coloured woollen coat was swaying at his feet and his messy hair was swept off of his forehead.

"Sherlock, hi." He said awkwardly.

John could see Harry's eyes light up and she smiled teasingly at him, John tried not to blush.

"I'll leave you guys to it." She said, walking away with a certain swagger in her step.

John resisted the urge to close his eyes, he knew exactly what Harry was going to say now that she knew exactly how gorgeous Sherlock was.

John felt unbelievably awkward, just stood there with this massive space between them, Sherlock didn't say anything.

"Um, so, has something happened?" John asked. "Do you need my help?"

"No," Sherlock replied, and John frowned. Was it just him or did Sherlock seem kind of...distant. Cold, even. "Listen, John -" Sherlock continued, John could see his arms moving like he was wringing his hands behind his back, but his face remained stony. "We can't see each other any more..." Sherlock quickly rephrased, shaking his head slightly. "I mean, we can't be friends any more."

John stood silent for a moment. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock took a deep breath, thinking about everything he knew about John Watson and calculating what would hurt him the most. "Because I don't a lonely child following me around."

The blow in Sherlock's voice almost physically hurt John, Sherlock's voice had always been sexy and smooth but now...John couldn't stand it.

Sherlock just continued to stand there, not saying anything else, not offering any explanation, certainly not gunning towards an apology.

John found himself getting quite angry, pissed that Sherlock would do this to him, pissed that someone so perceptive could also be so completely fucking blind.

"What are you talking about, I'm lonely?!" Said John, his voice rising to a shout. "You are the loneliest person I've ever met, I'm your only friend!"

John liked to think that he saw some sort of pain flicker over Sherlock's face for a second, but he would never know because Sherlock immediately said, "Not any more," and swiftly turned on his heel and left.

John just stood there, open mouthed, staring at the now empty doorway.

John felt so suddenly lonely, not like he normally did, but like he had a bubble around him that no one could penetrate.

It felt like he and Sherlock had just broken up despite the fact that they had never been together in the first place.

Slowly closing the door, John wondered if it were possible to get so far gone, be alone for so long, you actually get used to being lonely and you push people out because you can't handle it.

He wondered if he would ever be that way.

But as he walked back to Harry, thinking about how she would be hungover and unresponsive tomorrow, thinking how he actually didn't know when he would see his father again, thinking about how he never got any time with his mum because of her idiot boyfriend, and how he'd just lost someone he could have so easily loved...

He realised he'd never get used to being lonely, and it would never stop hurting.


	7. Phone

Chapter 7: Phone

A/N: Oh Sherlock, so silly...anyway, I've had loads of fun writing this chapter and just want to warn against any upsetting scenes that may turn up. Also, I really, really hope everyone has picked up on the fact that John's best friends are called Ben and Martin x

John was flicking through the channels on the TV in the living room, passing over the sports with an eye roll, if he saw one more sporting event he would burst.

Even though John would never admit it, one, because he hated teenage stereotypes and two, because he liked to think he was above this sort of thing, he was sulking.

Not soon after Sherlock had left him gaping had John gone to his mother's, declined dinner and ran for his room. He locked the door and put his headphones on and listened to music steadily for a good half an hour, slowly calming himself down. As much as an American-high school thing it was to do, he did find himself much calmer and soon after came down to the kitchen and made a sandwich to ease his hunger. After that he had gone back to his room, finished his homework, watched some TV, read a little and thanked God that it was Friday night and he didn't have to go to school the next day. But then it occurred to him that what else was he going to do? The joy of having very few friends was that when given time to have social interactions you tended to spend that time alone which was more depressing than anything else.

Which lead John back to the reason he had been trying to keep himself so occupied, so he wouldn't think about Sherlock.

He'd gone to bed early and woken up early which was exactly the reason he was sat in the front room, sulking and flicking through the multitude of daytime TV which should have never been allowed to air.

"You're starting to scare me." Came a voice from behind John, he didn't turn to look as his mother sat down on the couch next to him, causing it to dip.

"Why?" Asked John.

"Because this is like, the third time you've been up early on a Saturday. Why couldn't I have a normal teenage son?" Rebecca's tone was joking but John still had to fight the urge to tell her that maybe she'd have a "normal" teenage son if she hadn't spent the last 7 years arguing with his Dad in the middle of the night and emotionally neglecting him and making him emotionally scarred for life. But instead of saying that, he merely shrugged.

"Normal people are boring." He offered.

"So true. So, why are you sulking?"

Again, this put John into the same situation. How exactly was he supposed to tell his mother, who didn't even know he was gay, that the reason he was sulking was because his boyfriend who was never really his boyfriend just dumped him out of the blue and has still offered him no explanation as to why, and he's not sure whether he misses Sherlock or is really angry with him.

John merely shrugged again. "Just Dad's," he decided, "living there gets me down sometimes." Not technically a lie.

His mother nodded sympathetically and rubbed a comforting hand on his back. John knew his mum only meant well, but he did sometimes wish that he could talk to his mum about it, he could usually talk to his mum about anything but not about this.

It wasn't that his mum was particularly homophobic, it was just an uncommon thing. Plus, John knew she would just tell him he's sixteen and can't possibly know what he wants yet, which always made John laugh because at this point he was perfectly capable of selecting his GCSE's and future career but apparently a complete novice at understanding his own sexuality. But the last thing he needed to do was start on society, he was annoyed enough as it is.

"What are you doing today?"

Rebecca sighed. "Stuart has a match."

Of course, Stuart the football fan. Not only did he enjoy watching it but he also enjoyed playing it and dragging Rebecca along for the fun. John had gone a couple of times to keep his mum company but had soon decided that sitting in a field in the freezing cold watching a group of people he didn't know playing a sport he didn't understand wasn't exactly his thing, so he'd stayed away from then on.

John snorted. "Fun, why don't you just not go?"

"I've got to, though, haven't I?" Rebecca pointed out. "The joys of being in a relationship, doing things you don't want to do for the people you love."

And that sentence pretty much summed John's life up in a nutshell.

Not long after that, Rebecca left to join Stuart and John was left to contemplate everything that had happened in the last few days, the floodgates had been opened and now he couldn't help thinking about it.

John's head fell into his hands, his life had been useless before, with his parents and his sister and everything else and now...now it had somehow managed to become ten times worse.

He mentally slapped himself. He knew, in fact he'd told himself, don't get invested in Sherlock. But he had, like an idiot he had just gone and let himself go and let himself imagine that things were going to be all right, but they weren't. He should never have let himself become invested in someone who was not only obviously a sociopath but also had no obligation to stick around in his miserable life.

John let out a strangled laugh as he lifted his head. "I shouldn't have this many problems at my age." He said to himself.

John's phone buzzed on the couch next to him and John picked it up, a text from Ben asking if he wanted to meet him and Martin at the cinema.

Of course. John remembered them talking about this film months ago and how they all couldn't wait for it to be out but now...

No, John told himself firmly. He text back and told Ben he'd meet him there. There was no sense in him letting Sherlock upset him, he'd barely known him anyway.

…

The book hit the other side of the room with a loud thud and Sherlock rubbed his eyes.

Useless, useless information. The only reason Sherlock read so much was so he could get as much information as possible and store it away. Did humanity really need to record so much nonsense?

Sherlock sighed irritably as he noticed the laptop sat on his coffee table, the half-finished college essay still on the screen, he sighed again.

College, he had a class that afternoon he was dreading going to. He hated it, he hated all of it. He hated the stares at the whispers and the way he was always sat alone in the classroom...

Sherlock opened his eyes. No he didn't. He didn't hate any of that. He would have to make an exaggerated effort to care about any of that.

College and all the people that went there weren't what he was upset about, and if he was honest with himself he wasn't really even upset, he was bothered. And what he was bothered about, as much as he didn't want to admit it , was that he was sat alone right now.

He looked at the phone sat next to his laptop, silently sitting there, like it was goading him into calling John. The only time he ever really got a personal call was when his parents called from Paris.

Sherlock's head flopped back against the seat. He remembered when they had moved to Paris, he was young and he'd always felt abandoned and angry with them. All Sherlock had wanted to do was move in with his big brother Sherrinford but after a while it became apparent that wasn't going to happen so he was forced to stay with Mycroft. Mycroft was cold and unloving and that's exactly what he turned Sherlock into. Sherlock quickly discovered that if he stopped caring about all the things that had hurt him then they couldn't hurt him any more. It was full proof.

All he wanted to do was get through college, go to university, concentrate on the work.

Everything had been going fine until John Watson had come along and ruined everything.

He ran his hands through his knotted curls as his brain brought the image of John's face when Sherlock had broken up with him to the forefront of his mind, he hated the look of pain in John's eyes, he hated the fact that it had been him that had caused it.

Sherlock practically growled in annoyance, he hadn't broken up with John because nothing had been happening between them. John was too young and he was too much of a distraction.

Plus, the kid had problems. Sherlock could see that much, he even knew the problems John didn't talk about merely because he didn't talk about them.

He never spoke about his sister: problem. He had little friends: problem. He brought books to school as a diversion tactic: problem.

And now I've just gone and added to those problems.

Sherlock shoved the little twinge of pain to the back of his mind, if he could get over his parents abandoning him then he could get over one teenage boy that made a slight impression on him.

He reached past his phone and picked his laptop up, he didn't need John anyway.

…

John entered the small cafe opposite the cinema, checking the time on his phone before seeing Ben and Martin sat at one of the tables with food in front of them.

"Thanks for ordering for me, dick." John said as he sat down opposite them.

Ben and Martin snickered. "You just get pissed when I do it." Ben pointed out and Martin nodded in agreement.

"I'm so tired." Martin moaned, sipping some of his drink.

"Then sleep more, nerd." Ben shot back.

John had missed this, he missed the playful banter of just hanging out with his friends and not having to worry about anything.

Ben and Martin were still arguing as they walked into the cinema half an hour later and John rolled his eyes and switched his phone off.

…

Sherlock jumped out of the cab and slung his laptop bag over his shoulder containing his newly finished essay he'd gotten done after clearing his head. He walked through the college entrance, fingers dancing over the keypad of his phone when he heard, "hey, freak."

Sherlock sighed to himself. He looked up and saw the culprit, Sally Donovan, her boyfriend and some other guy he'd never known the name of all snickering at him.

He and Sally had gone to school together and he'd hoped to get rid of her but no, he'd only gained more of her band of followers who laughed at him whenever he walked past.

"Murder anyone today?" She asked as he attempted to walk by.

"No, but it's still early." He shot back pointedly, fixing his eyes on her. Her smile dropped and Sherlock walked away, feeling quite content with himself.

Two hours later, Sherlock left the chemistry classroom and walked straight out of the college campus, he was debating going and getting a coffee to give him an excuse to work on the Laurence Garden's case but his thought process was interrupted as he saw two familiar faces slip out of a back road.

Sally's boyfriend, Anderson, and the other one. Neither looked too happy.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued walking, he wanted to say something to them but he couldn't see the point. Knowing he held superior intelligence was enough.

Anderson got in front of him and Sherlock stopped walking and looked into his face patiently, they must have been the same height, the other one was a little taller.

"Can I help you?" He asked calmly, feigning a look of boredom.

"You shouldn't have threatened my girlfriend." Said Anderson and Sherlock rolled his eyes again.

"Ah yes, Anderson, thank you for lowering the IQ of the whole street. I didn't threaten your girlfriend I merely implied, which seems to be more than you're capable of doing."

"Why do you do that?" The other one asked, stepping into view. "No one else talks like you, or dresses like you. You think you can just go around pretending you're better than everyone else?"

Sherlock was becoming acutely aware of just how much taller the other one was to him and attempted to walk by them without another word but before he could, a heavy blow connected with his stomach, knocking all the air from him.

Sherlock gasped for breath as another hit connected with his face and then a foot to his groin and he fell to the floor, hitting his hip awkwardly against the concrete.

He tried to reach his hands out to stop the kicks that were raining down on him but he had no air, no strength and the pain was nothing he'd ever felt before.

After what felt like an eternity, the immediate pain in his abdomen went and he was left with a dull throb that got stronger by the second.

"Not so tough now, are you?" Came the hazy voice of one of them, before Sherlock was half aware of running footsteps and then he was alone, there was no one there, he didn't think he could even call out, he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe.

Dazed, confused, hurting, Sherlock's numb fingers reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, he could barely see the contact screen as he selected a number, the only number he could call, the only number he wanted to call.

Contact name: John

…

"Holy crap, that was amazing." Martin exclaimed as they passed the usher and stepped out into the sunshine, John's vision blurred for a second as his eyes adjusted to the light.

"That was the best film I've seen ever." Said John and Ben laughed.

Ben began to say something as John pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned it on.

After a moment of booting up, the notification noise sounded, then again and then again.

"Ooh, has John actually got friends?" Ben teased.

John stuck his middle finger up at him as he saw the three missed calls, all from Sherlock.

John hadn't thought about Sherlock at all through the film, and right now he didn't know what to think. He didn't want to pick up if Sherlock was just going to apologise, he didn't need that. But at the same time he couldn't help feeling worried.

…

Sherlock was crying, he could feel the hot tears falling down his cheeks. He'd never felt this alone in his life, not just physically alone but really, truly solitary.

He still couldn't breathe well, he was struggling to pull in breaths, he was aware that he was bleeding somewhere, he could feel the hot liquid against his skin and the pain in his hip where he had collided with the ground had become unbearable.

Sherlock pressed on John's name again, praying that he would pick up this time, praying that he hadn't damaged their relationship irreparably.

…

John's phone buzzed again in his hand, it was Sherlock. He looked at it uneasily again, unsure whether he should let that pain back into his life.

Despite John's better judgement, and because this was Sherlock and because he was mad, he answered the phone.

He expected Sherlock's sexy voice to ring out but instead Sherlock's voice was cracking, his words coming out between sobs.

"Sherlock!" John all but shouted alarmingly into the phone.

"Sherlock?" Asked Martin, but John ignored him.

"John, John, please..." Came Sherlock's voice breathlessly, "I can't...I can't breath, I hurt, I need...please, please..."

John's blood ran cold in his veins and suddenly every other problem melted into nothing and all he could think was Sherlock.

"Sherlock," he said, voice threatening to shatter with fear, "stay where you are, I'm coming."


	8. Battered and bruised

A/N: Just for the record, the age of consent here in England is 16 so this fic is entirely consensual, however, for all my readers where that differs, because John is only 16 then you could read this as underage.

Sherlock twisted, completely at a loss as to how no one had actually walked past yet, this was the last time he walked down a back road to anywhere.

The pain in his hip was almost making him numb but the pain in his abdomen remained as intense as ever and he really, really hoped that nothing was broken inside of him.

_This is why you need friends_. Sherlock thought to himself, then he let out a strangled laugh, he must be in pain if he just thought that.

Another wave of pain shot through his stomach and he winced. _It's okay_ , he tried to calm himself, _It's okay, John is coming. John is coming. John is coming._

"Sherlock!"

_John_.

John crouched down next to Sherlock, sprawled out across the concrete, and was at a complete loss at what to do.

"Sherlock, oh my God, Sherlock..."

Sherlock found himself going red with embarrassment but as he felt John wrap his arms around him and pull him to his feet, he didn't feel so embarrassed any more.

John took in the bruising to Sherlock's face and the rigid way he held himself, he felt that same terror shock it's way through his body.

It was always hard seeing someone knocked down, but when you saw someone knocked down that you had always naturally associated with strength...it made you feel strangely vulnerable, too.

Sherlock took hold of John's arms to try and steady himself but his brain was cloudy and his legs felt like jelly.

"Sherlock, Jesus Christ, tell me what happened!" John watched as Sherlock opened his mouth to talk, until his features contorted into a pained grimace and John immediately held onto him tighter.

"No, no, don't worry.. Don't talk, you can tell me later. It's okay, Sherlock."

John fished his phone out of his pocket awkwardly with all of Sherlock's body weight against him, for someone so lean and skinny he was surprisingly heavy.

"John, wait..." Came the breathy voice of Sherlock.

"Yes, what?" Asked John, "are you okay?"

Sherlock looked pained again for a moment. "Just, don't call an ambulance."

"But...Sherlock, I need to, you..."

"I'm not that bad," Sherlock insisted, "just don't call an ambulance, please."

Sherlock's eyes were so wide and doleful, so clouded over that John huffed loudly and instead entered in a different number.

"Yes, can I help you?" The voice at the other end asked.

"Hi, can I get a cab to 221B Baker Street?"

…

John awkwardly opened the door to Sherlock's flat and nearly fell through, he looked around the mess that was the flat, he remembered coming here the first time, when things were different.

"Okay, Sherlock, come on let's get you inside."

John settled Sherlock down on the sofa and watched as he winced in pain.

"Hold on," said John, racing into the bathroom. He searched around for a while, mentally scolding Sherlock for not keeping painkillers in his own flat.

John spied a small rack under the skin and ducked under. Aha! Paracetamol! It wasn't great but it would do.

Walking back into the sitting room, he poured out a glass of water and walked back over to Sherlock, who was lying on the couch, curled up in the foetal position.

"You shouldn't lie down," John told him, setting the glass aside and gently lifting Sherlock up into a sitting position, "you know, if you have concussion or something."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and John couldn't help but notice the purple stains blossoming under his eye and on his neck.

Trying to block out all of his emotions and merely take care of Sherlock was surprisingly hard. He picked up the glass and the paracetamol and held it out in front of Sherlock.

"Here, you didn't have anything stronger."

Sherlock batted the pills away. "No, it's okay, I don't need them."

"Yes, you do." John pointed out, "you can't want to be in pain."

"John..."

"Sherlock, please."

Sherlock closed his eyes momentarily, wanting to get away from John's gaze. He extended his hand. "Okay, fine. Hand them over."

"Thank you." Said John gratefully, he watched as Sherlock popped two of the pills in his mouth and downed them with a gulp of water, he handed the glass back to John.

John merely smiled at him before he walked back to the kitchen, whatever John was doing, it took a while and Sherlock found that the pain in his abdomen started to lessen slightly, he sighed in relief.

John manoeuvred his way through the unusual experiments littering the kitchen and found himself shaking his head, people like Sherlock didn't exist.

He put some water on the boil and finally he was allowed a moment to think. He wasn't sure what thought to process first, why was Sherlock hurt? Why had he called him? What was John doing?

As John poured the lukewarm water into a bowl he saw that his hands were shaking. Anything could have happened to Sherlock, it wasn't healthy for him to be alone all the time, it wasn't safe. What if he hadn't got there in time? What if he hadn't answered the phone?

John forced himself to stop thinking like that. Sherlock was in the other room, he was a little bit battered but he was mostly okay, and he was receptive to John caring for him. Surely that meant he couldn't just be the cold man that had hurt John in his doorway?

John grabbed a cloth and took the bowl back into Sherlock in the front room, Sherlock remained perched on the edge of the sofa, his eyes were closed but he looked relatively peaceful.

"Hey," said John, to get his attention.

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at him.

"How are you feeling?"

"A little better, actually."

"Good."

Sherlock watched as John walked over with a bowl and a towel and he didn't really understand what was going on. People like John didn't exist, not in Sherlock's experience. Sherlock had hurt him, he had _meant_ to hurt him and yet here he was.

John placed the bowl and the towel on the cluttered coffee table and walked closer to Sherlock.

"Are you going to let me look after you?" He asked and Sherlock nodded once, a small smile ghosting over his lips. It was times like this where John Watson was no longer a sixteen year old school kid, he was an equal. He was better than Sherlock.

Carefully, with reservation in his eyes, John knelt in front of Sherlock. He reached out and gently tugged Sherlock's suit jacket from his shoulders, he'd fantasied about this, just once, about taking Sherlock's clothes off carefully, but never like this.

After he pulled the jacket off and deposited it on the seat next to Sherlock, he hesitantly began undoing the buttons on Sherlock's purple shirt, aware that Sherlock's gaze was trained on him. He supposed in another scenario, this would be quite sensual.

It was quite sensual.

"Your bedside manner is pretty good." Sherlock mumbled.

"Hmm?" Questioned John, looking up at him.

"For a Doctor," Sherlock pointed out, with a small smile.

"Oh," said John, forcing himself not to go red. "You remember that."

"Of course." Sherlock replied softly.

It was moments like this, these tiny little moments where Sherlock was so sweet and so open, and that was why John liked him so much.

That was why John couldn't understand why anyone could do such a thing to him.

John could feel the anger rise in him as he slipped Sherlock's shirt from his narrow frame, then he saw the mottled bruises covering his ribs and his abdomen and saw Sherlock wince out of the corner of his eye. The purple and the blue contrasted with his pale skin which made them more prominent, they probably looked worse than they actually were but the anger suddenly left John and he was overcome with worry.

He looked up to see Sherlock staring down at him with a look of uncertainty in his eyes. Carefully, very carefully so to not aggravate Sherlock's bruises, he put his arms around Sherlock's neck, he felt Sherlock's arm snake loosely around John's waist, pulling him closer so he was nearly on Sherlock's lap.

"Sherlock, who did this to you?" Asked John quietly, he could feel Sherlock's soft hair brushing against his neck and couldn't help but feel comforted by it despite the fact it was Sherlock that needed caring for.

"Some kids who go to my college," Sherlock answered, liking the comforting weight of John against him despite the fact it also confused him. "They've had it in for me for ages."

Sherlock noticed that John was shaking against him and shifted slightly. "John, are you okay? Are you crying?"

John pulled away from Sherlock and Sherlock felt the loss of heat. John wiped his eyes quickly so Sherlock couldn't see his tears. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine." Sherlock assured him, aiming for a comforting smile.

John wiped his eyes again and moved back to the bowl on the table, Sherlock wanted to pull John back against him despite his bruises, he wanted John to be close to him so the next time he cried he didn't feel like he had to wipe his tears away in shame.

Sherlock had never felt like this about someone before, he had no idea what was going on in his mind.

"Where does it hurt?" Asked John.

"Aside from everywhere, you mean?" Sherlock joked, but the look on John's faced showed he didn't exactly find that funny so Sherlock dropped the smile.

"Um, my hip actually." He admitted sheepishly after a moment.

John nodded. "Okay, can you stand up?"

Sherlock dutifully stood and John looked at Sherlock for a minute. "Um, do you mind if I...?"

Sherlock nodded slightly. "Yeah, no, it's fine." He said.

John nodded and stepped forward, opening the front of Sherlock's trousers and pulling them down over his legs, the room was so sexually charged that Sherlock thought he might drown in it.

John had never been this confused in his life, he was turned on and worried all at the same time, he tossed Sherlock's trousers aside and looked up at him. "You can sit down if you like." He said, Sherlock sat.

"Which side?" He asked.

"The left." Sherlock answered.

John carefully pulled down the left side of Sherlock's black boxers to preserve Sherlock's dignity and Sherlock twitched slightly, feeling vulnerable.

John hissed as he revealed the jagged, bleeding wound on Sherlock's hip where he scraped himself against the concrete.

Sherlock turned his head away. So that's what had been bleeding.

All the flirtatious ideas in John's head melted away as he was met with this sight, he reached over and dipped the cloth in the warm water, wringing it out and he pressed it lightly against Sherlock's cut.

Sherlock hissed out from the contact and John tried to be gentler.

"Sorry," John apologised, "it needs to be clean."

"Yeah," Sherlock agreed and watched in silence as John cleaned the cut. It was smaller than it looked. "Thanks for saving me." Said Sherlock eventually.

John was unused to all this gratitude from Sherlock that was suddenly coming his way but he smiled none the less.

"It's okay."

The pair lapsed into silence for a while until John spoke again.

"So, why didn't you call Mycroft?" He asked lightly.

Sherlock snorted above him. "Mycroft wouldn't notice if I came hobbling in with a broken leg. Siblings."

"Yeah, tell me about it." John agreed, thinking of Harry. "You know, you should go to the police."

Sherlock sighed above him.

"Yeah, I suppose I better had." He admitted, "I feel kind of silly, though. "Oh these boys beat me up," seems very primary school."

"It's not silly, Sherlock, you were attacked. But if you feel nervous, I can come with you."

Sherlock didn't respond.

After John was satisfied that the wound was clean, he put the cloth back into the bowl. "Do you have a first aid kit?" He asked.

Sherlock nodded. "Yeah, there's one in the bathroom."

John nodded, remembering seeing it in his hunt for painkillers. "Okay," he said, before walking back to the bathroom and grabbing the small red box and walking back to Sherlock.

He knelt down again and placed a small bandage over Sherlock's cut. "It's not that bad." Sherlock pointed out.

"No, but it'll rub like hell against your pants." John pointed out.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "You really know what you're doing."

John snorted in response. "Mum made sure I knew basic stuff, just in case something happened with Harry and I was the only one around..." John cut himself off before he could talk more.

"How are your family?" Sherlock asked, he knew he was in dangerous territory but someone had to ask.

"They're okay." John answered. "Now, are you okay, are there any other cuts?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, it's just bruises."

John looked up at Sherlock, smiling despite the bruise under his eye and the graze above his eyebrow, all of a sudden John found himself overcome with emotion again, he could feel his eyes filling up and Sherlock's forehead creased in worry.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"Sherlock, you're brilliant," John told him, "I mean, I know that you're a little rough around the edges but you have an amazing mind and it really makes me lose faith in the human race that people would attack you for that."

Sherlock smiled shallowly and placed a finger under John's chin, easing his face up to his. "People are idiots." He reminded John, John laughed and Sherlock laughed, too.

John looked into Sherlock's grey eyes, so vulnerable and so different from the eyes of the man he first met out on the street. There was familiarity to Sherlock now, he was looking at the face of the man who made him forget all the crap that had ever happened to him, if only for a little while.

"I love you, Sherlock."

Sherlock stared at John for the longest moment until he pulled John's face to his and kissed him softly.

John felt like he was in completely new territory and yet right at home at the same time.

Sherlock's lips were so soft, so perfect, he wished it would last forever.

A few moments later, Sherlock slowly broke the kiss off, staring into John's eyes.

John could do nothing but stare for the longest time, unsure of what to say when he knew that all he wanted was to kiss Sherlock again.

"It's getting late." Sherlock pointed out.

"It's Saturday," replied John, "I don't want to leave you on your own."

"Okay."

…

Sherlock was putting some clothes on in the other room and John took out his phone and text his mum.

_Hey mum, can I stay at Ben's tonight? John x_

He looked at the door and knew that Sherlock was changing on the other side, he tried not to think about it. But was he allowed to think about it now? What with what just happened?

His phone beeped.

_Sure you can, darling. Have fun xx_

John slipped his phone back into his pocket and walked back to the couch.

After a moment left alone with his thoughts, the door to Sherlock's bedroom opened and Sherlock emerged, wearing loose fitting pyjama bottoms and a thin, light blue dressing gown. He looked so different like this, so surprisingly normal. But then John supposed he didn't sleep in a suit.

"How do you feel?" Asked John.

Sherlock scratched his neck. "Better." He admitted, "alright, actually."

John nodded. "Do you want anything to eat?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, I'm okay. I thought I might get some rest though, if that's okay?"

"Of course," said John, standing. "Rest up, I'll be here if you need me."

Sherlock smiled gratefully as he retreated back into his room. John made to sit back down again before the door opened and Sherlock stuck his head back out, black curls bouncing. "You're one in a million, John." He said, before closing the door again.

John sat back down and couldn't help smiling.

…

Sherlock was trying not to toss and turn because every time he did he brushed against one of his bruises, he was glad that the scrape on his hip was covered.

One of the reasons Sherlock couldn't get any sleep was because every time he fell asleep he woke himself up again by turning onto one of his bruises, but the other reason he couldn't fall asleep was because that he was hyper-aware of John in the next room.

John, his friend, the boy he had just kissed.

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair, he shouldn't have done that, he knew he shouldn't. Yet he still couldn't bring himself to regret it.

…

John lay on the couch, still reeling from the kiss. He wasn't sure if he was really confused or blissfully happy, he was stuck in-between the two emotions which was a weird place to be. It confirmed so many things, that Sherlock liked guys and more than that he liked John, but at exactly the same time, nothing was clear. John had no idea how he felt, he had no idea what was going on and, this was probably the most troubling, he had no idea what was going to happen next.

…

John awoke with a start several hours later, he was sure he must have imagined that noise, whatever it was.

He closed his eyes but then he heard it again, a kind of low moan. John opened his eyes, what would be moaning?

His eyes widened as he remembered where he was and all that had happened. Sherlock!

John walked to Sherlock's bedroom door, wondered momentarily if he should knock but after a moment, he just barged in. Sherlock was twitching on the bed, clearly in pain.

"Sherlock," said John, "Sherlock." But he wasn't awake.

John couldn't just leave him, so instead, he leant across the bed and shook Sherlock's shoulder slightly. "Sherlock, wake up!"

Sherlock's eyes shot open and he looked at John and then down at himself, John watched him go red.

"Hey, don't worry, you just need some more painkillers, okay?"

Sherlock nodded blearily and sat up, his bed covers pooling around his ankles.

John went back to the bathroom to fetch the painkillers and took them to Sherlock, who swallowed two gratefully.

After a moment or two, Sherlock's breathing began to even out and John began to feel self conscious about being in Sherlock's bedroom, perched on the end of his bed.

"Um, I'll let you get some sleep." He mumbled before going to get up. He felt a warm hand hold onto his wrist, he turned back to see Sherlock looking up at him.

"No, stay with me for a minute, if that's okay."

John nodded silently and sank back onto the bed next to Sherlock, watching the way he moved robotically, trying not to aggravate anything.

"Are you okay?" Asked John.

Sherlock nodded. "Yeah, I think so, it's more of a surface pain now."

"Well, if you do need anything, I'm here." John assured him.

Sherlock looked at him for the longest time and John felt himself getting hot in the face, he wished that maybe he could be with Sherlock just once without turning into a tomato.

"What?" He asked, he was never really sure when Sherlock was deducing him or just looking at him. Although he supposed for Sherlock, it was all one and the same.

"Nothing," said Sherlock, looking away momentarily before looking back. "I just don't know what I'd do without you."

John laughed. "Probably be happier."

"Shut up, I mean it, stop putting yourself down, John. Heaven knows I've done it enough."

"What do you mean?" Asked John.

Sherlock dipped his head momentarily, guilt in his eyes. "I mean, the only reason I left you, I _hurt_ you was to try and protect you from _this_ ," he gestured vaguely to the bruise on his face, "I'm sorry for what I said, John."

John didn't know what he was doing but he was aware that he was kissing Sherlock, and Sherlock was kissing him back. Sherlock pulled John into him and John climbed up Sherlock's body, wrapping his arms around his frame. He'd thought about this from the moment he met him, he never expected it to be like this.

The kiss broke off and Sherlock ran a hand through John's hair, staring at him softly. John blushed. "What?" He asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "I've never wanted someone like this before. What have you done to me, John Watson?"

John smiled before he leaned in and kissed Sherlock again, this wasn't the first time he'd kissed someone but it was the best. He suddenly understood why people loved kissing so much.

"I was so worried you were straight," John muttered against Sherlock's cheek.

"I wasn't," Sherlock replied, "I could tell."

John pulled back far enough so he could see Sherlock's face, he settled into Sherlock's lap, loving the feeling of Sherlock's long arms wrapped loosely around his waist. "You could tell I was gay?"

Sherlock nodded. "From the start, it comes from a number of different factors..."

John laughed. "Shut the fuck up, Sherlock." He kissed him again. "My friends are going to be jealous, me being with an older man."

Sherlock snorted, the sound still managing to be sexy. "Like that means anything, I've never even..." Sherlock stopped talking abruptly.

"What?" Asked John.

Sherlock looked suddenly sheepish.

"What?" John reiterated.

"Well, it's just..." Sherlock was blushing now, it was one of the most adorable things he'd seen Sherlock do. "I've never been with anyone before."

"So?" Said John, "I don't care. I'm glad you haven't, neither have I."

"Virgins together." Sherlock mumbled, laughing slightly.

"Well, you know, we could..." John muttered, feeling embarrassed. "We could...change that?"

Sherlock looked mock-shocked. "John Watson, are you talking about the sex?"

John couldn't help it, he was suddenly in fits of giggled. "Oh, God. I can't believe you just called it "the sex"..."

Sherlock laughed and kissed him again, John felt all the giggles go away as he stared at Sherlock.

"I'm ready if you are." Sherlock said.

"Okay," said John after a moment, before a thought occurred to him. "Wait, we don't have anything."

Sherlock looked suddenly sheepish and John raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Well," began Sherlock, "not long after we met, I actually picked up a few things, just in case..."

"You're kidding, right?" Said John, feeling a warmth in the pit of his stomach. That meant that all the time John had been pining after Sherlock, Sherlock had wanted him, too.

"I felt like I needed to be prepared," Sherlock continued, "being the responsible adult and all that."

John shook his head as Sherlock climbed off of the bed, he came back a few minutes later with a pack of condoms and a tube of lubricant and sat down awkwardly on the bed.

"Okay, so how do we...?" He asked.

"We'll have to be gentle," said John, "with you bruises."

Sherlock nodded, then carefully pulled his t-shirt off, showing his yellowing bruises.

John mirrored him, slowly taking off his shirt, he was nervous, he'd never shown his body to anyone. But with the look that Sherlock gave him, he didn't feel so nervous any more.

The pair kissed slowly as Sherlock fumbled with John's jeans, getting the zip open and sliding them down his legs, John reached for his own trousers and slid them all the way off, feeling the chill bite at his skin.

Sherlock shuffled further back on the bed, John got on his knees and carefully pulled Sherlock's night trousers down and tossed them aside.

Sherlock dragged John down into a kiss and they stayed there for a while, just kissing and fondling, John being careful not to touch Sherlock's bruises and Sherlock being careful not to be too forward, he knew John was vulnerable, he was still young, after all.

John pulled away from the kiss and looked at Sherlock. "I want you to be the one who...you know, does it."

Sherlock nodded. "Okay."

Sherlock reached down and slowly, almost teasingly slid his black boxers down his legs, revealing his bandage and his hard cock. John just stared, he couldn't think. He imagined what it would feel like inside him.

"Are you sure about this?" Asked Sherlock softly.

John nodded, "yeah, you're kind of big, though."

Sherlock laughed slightly. "So are you." He pointed out, gesturing to John's own erection straining against his boxers.

John quickly pulled off his pants and threw them aside and suddenly, they were both naked, there was no going back now.

Sherlock reached to the side and grabbed a condom from the pack, he kept his eyes on John as he opened it and rolled it onto himself.

John couldn't figure out if he was nervous or aroused. He picked up the lube from the side of the bed, he was ashamed to say that he had watched enough porn to know what to do with it.

Sherlock reached his hand out, his eyes sparkling. "Can I?" He asked.

John felt himself go red but then berated himself, he couldn't act like a child about this, it would just prove to Sherlock that he wasn't as mature as Sherlock thought he was.

"Yeah, okay." He said, passing the lube to Sherlock.

"You don't need to be scared." He said.

"I'm not scared," replied John softly, "not of you."

Sherlock smiled slightly and reached out for John. "Come here."

John crawled up Sherlock and settled back into his lap, narrowly avoiding his cock.

Sherlock leant up and kissed him softly, wrapping his arms around him before he retracted them and opened the lube.

John watched as Sherlock squeezed some out onto his hand, it was weird stuff, not exactly liquid, it had more substance, like honey.

Before he even touched John, Sherlock's hand went to his own cock and he wanked himself slowly, rubbing the lube up and down his length, his eyes closed and his mouth opened slightly, it was the hottest thing John had ever seen.

It suddenly occurred to John that maybe he should have offered to do that, it would have been one thing he could do. But before he could say anything, Sherlock finished and opened his eyes.

He smiled shyly at John as he squirted more of the strange substance on his hand. "What's it feel like?" Asked John.

"Surprisingly cold." Sherlock answered, John wrinkled his noise.

"Umm," Sherlock looked at his hand and John reached forward and guided Sherlock's hand between his legs.

"Have you ever done this before?" Asked Sherlock.

John shook his head. "No."

John shivered as he felt Sherlock's cool finger make contact with his hole.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock all but whispered, John nodded.

Sherlock massaged the area around his hole for a second and John nearly jumped in surprise when he pressed a finger inside him.

Sherlock used his free hand to stroke John's back comforting. "I've got you," he kept muttering against John's skin, "I've got you."

John tried to relax, he tried to remain calm but when Sherlock pushed in another finger he arched his back.

Sherlock stilled immediately and looked worriedly into John's eyes. "John, are you okay?"

John shuddered for a moment before he opened his eyes. "Sorry," he said, wiping his nose, "that felt really good."

Sherlock visibly relaxed in front of him before he let his head fall into the crook of John's neck, John cradled it there as Sherlock continued his movements.

John didn't know exactly how to explain the shot of pleasure he'd just felt, but it was like it had shot up his spine like an electric shock.

"You're so beautiful like this," Sherlock whispered.

John laughed, beautiful?

He pulled Sherlock's face to his. "I'm ready," he almost whined, "this is killing me."

Sherlock laughed and John felt his fingers leave him, he was saddened at the loss.

Sherlock started to move but John put both of his hands on Sherlock's chest, Sherlock stopped moving.

"You're still hurt," John pointed out, gently, he pushed Sherlock down so he was lying on the bed, Sherlock complied, eyes never leaving John's.

Once Sherlock was laying down, John positioned himself so he was hovering above Sherlock's cock, he heard Sherlock's breath hitch and risked smiling to himself.

He reached down and grabbed Sherlock's cock, revelling in the warmth of it, the girth of it, of the way the most unsocial man in the world was letting John be this intimate with him and for the first time. It was all too much.

He positioned himself over the hard member and slowly, ever so slowly lowered himself down.

Sherlock groaned loudly beneath him but John could barely concentrate, all he could think about was the stretch, the burn. The way it hurt but was also the most pleasure he'd ever felt in his life.

He opened his eyes when he felt Sherlock's cool fingers on his stomach, he looked down to see Sherlock lying beneath him, his curls a messy halo around his head and his eyes hooded with lust.

"You're perfect." John found himself saying, despite how stupid it would sound later.

John groaned slightly as he sheathed Sherlock's entire length inside himself, he settled his thighs either side of Sherlock's pelvis, careful not to hit his hip.

Sherlock stroked up and down his quivering muscles, relaxing John and making him feel steady, after a moment or two, the burn became more bearable and John opened his eyes, he looked down at Sherlock, his face full of comfort and emotion and he realised there was nowhere else he'd rather be. He was right, he was well and truly in love.

Placing his hands carefully on Sherlock's chest, making sure to avoid Sherlock's bruises, John lifted himself slowly and sunk back down again.

Sherlock's eyes squeezed shut and his mouth fell open, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, he lifted again and sank back down, and again and again, never getting any faster, his pace slow and languid. Because, of course, Sherlock was still in pain and John didn't want to aggravate anything, but also because this was what happiness was and John never wanted it to end, they had all the time in the world.

The next time he sank back down, John's eyes shot open and he moaned loudly, that same spark of pleasure shot through him. Prostate gland, he'd learned about it in science once.

John looked down to Sherlock again, who was still staring at him with the same expression of lust as before.

Gingerly, Sherlock sat up and placed his arms around John's waist and rutted up into him, still at the same pace. John cried out quietly as Sherlock hit that same spot over and over again.

John barely even noticed that they had begun to kiss again, all he knew was that he needed Sherlock's mouth and his body and everything about him forever...

With a startled cry, John came, he hadn't even touched his own cock but still there were white ropes shooting from him and hitting Sherlock's chest. He clenched down so hard on Sherlock's cock that soon the detective-in-training was coming too, he barely made a sound as he buried his face in John's neck and his whole body spasmed.

John felt like the tremors were going to go through him forever, but after a few moments, still clutching onto Sherlock, his body began to calm.

He felt himself go lax in Sherlock's arms, carefully, Sherlock lowered John down onto the bed next to him, slipping his softening cock from him as he did so, John missed the warmth. However, the warmth was replaced as Sherlock snuggled down next to him and wrapped his arms around John's frame, John put his arms around Sherlock's neck, wishing those bruises weren't there so he could hold him properly.

"We made a mess." Said John quietly, voice hoarse.

"I always make a mess," Sherlock replied.

John knew that the enormity of what just happened would soon come crashing down on him but right now, he was content with just laying there, staring into Sherlock's eyes and feeling his warmth around him.

"You've no idea how long I've wanted to hold you like this." Sherlock told him quietly, and John felt his stomach do a sleepy fit inside him.

John kissed Sherlock softly on the lips in response.

Soon, John fell asleep but Sherlock stayed awake just that little while longer, watching him.

"I'll never leave you again." He promised softly before he settled down to sleep beside him.


End file.
